


After Camlann

by n00blici0us



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-27
Updated: 2011-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n00blici0us/pseuds/n00blici0us
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the battle of Camlann, Merlin escapes to the fey lands. When he leaves, he has stayed much longer than he anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Camlann

_…then…_

The battle was raging fiercely, even though just a few scant hours ago the two sides had been so close to signing a treaty. Merlin slammed a fist into the hard ground, frustrated that he couldn’t help more. On some sort of honor system, the knights from both sides had decided to fight the old-fashioned way—without the aid of their sorcerers. “Merlin,” Arthur said quietly from the other side of the tent. “Help me get the armor back on.”

“You can’t be serious,” Merlin said. “You’ve a gash on your arm. You can barely hold the sword.”

“I’ll strap it on if I have to,” Arthur said stubbornly, “I’m not leaving my men to fight out there while I laze about in the tent.”

“You’re not lazing about,” Merlin snapped. “You’re injured. Surely you wouldn’t send your own men out with such an injury?”

“It’s not the same,” Arthur said, and Merlin knew it to be true. Arthur was always harder on himself than his own men, reluctant to stop shouldering all of the responsibilities of leading his men into battle even now when he ruled Camelot.

“You’re the King, Arthur,” Merlin said, “You can’t… I can’t…” he bit back the rest of the words, unwilling to even give them voice for fear of what might happen. Even now though, he felt the rush of destiny approaching them; he remembered Kilgarrah’s words from what seemed like another lifetime—“You have it in your power to prevent a great evil.” And here, now he was faced with the outcome of his actions, an outcome that he couldn’t have even imagined, though Mordred had spoken plainly then, just a boy, his face yet unmarked with even a faint growth of hair—“I shall never forgive this Emrys, and I shall never forget.”

Arthur’s hand on his shoulder pulled him from his memories. Merlin realized with a small shock that he was shaking, trembling under Arthur’s warm palm, Arthur who was always a steady reassurance, a beacon of light and hope, even in the stormiest of seas. “Merlin,” he sighed, “I won’t. It’s fine; I won’t. Just… give me something for the pain and strap me back in.” He gave a small half-grin, “You’ll see; it’ll be over by dinnertime and you can catch a rabbit and serve me that vile rabbit barley stew that you’re so fond of making.”

Merlin let out a choked half-sob because he felt something greater at work here, a moment when a thousand previously made choices rushed together to give the final outcome. “Yes sire,” he answered, biting back his fears, straightening his shoulders. His eyes glowed golden for just a second as he eased the worst of Arthur’s pains.

“Not too much, Merlin,” Arthur cautioned. “I don’t want you tiring yourself over a simple matter.”

“It’s not a simple matter,” Merlin responded, reaching around to buckle Arthur’s vambrances, a familiar routine borne of years of practice. He leaned his forehead against Arthur’s for just a moment, breathing in his scent mixed with oil, dirt, and the tang of blood. He allowed himself this small moment of intimacy before righting himself. “Right,” he said, “You’ll be wanting to get back out there and whacking some people then with your great big sword.” The horse whinnied outside. Merlin held open the tent flap for him.

Arthur paused in his exit, reaching up to touch a gloved hand tenderly along Merlin’s cheek. “It’ll be over before you know it, Merlin. Don’t worry.” He vaulted himself onto his horse and rode into the fray, his standard bearer riding out right next to him. As Arthur rode out, he called out to his men, “For Albion! For Albion!” His words spurred the men forward, onward into the fray.

Merlin ducked back into the tent for a moment, washing out the bandages in a bowl of water, preparing more for the casualties sure to come. Since he was not needed on the battlefield, Merlin was determined to make himself useful by using what Gaius had taught him. As he dipped his hands into the bowl of water in front of him, Mordred’s face suddenly appeared in it, a smirk gracing his face. “It’s the end,” Merlin heard echoing in the air around him, the faint sizzle of power lingering in the air.

Merlin dropped the bowl and rushed outside, needing to reach Arthur. He could feel in his bones that Mordred’s words were less of a warning and more of a statement of fact. The entire valley spread out before him, swords glinting in the late afternoon sun, shrieks piercing the air. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, he thought. He was supposed to protect Arthur, but he could barely make out Arthur’s red crest and dragon over the sea of red spreading before him as men were continually cut down. “Mordred!” he screamed, “Show yourself!”

As if he could hear Merlin over the din of the fighting, Mordred appeared—not in front of Merlin, but behind Arthur. Mordred looked unerringly to Merlin, lips curving into a half-smile as he raised an ornate dagger. “Bestealce,” he said, his voice quiet, but resounding next to Merlin.

“No!” Merlin shouted, knowing what would happen next and helpless to stop it. “No!” he shouted again, raising a hand. But it was too late. Mordred plunged the dagger into Arthur’s unprotected flank just before Merlin sent him flying away, impacting against a tree. Merlin hurtled into a headlong run, pushing his way past dead or dying men to reach Arthur’s side. “Arthur,” he whisperd as he cradled his body, blood pulsing over his hands.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, coughing and gasping for breath. “It’s… it’s all right.”

“No,” said Merlin again, tears running down his face.

“Remember… what I said. No man is worth your tears.”

Merlin leaned his forehead against Arthur’s, willing some healing magic to flow through him, to heal a mortal wound. “Please,” he whispered, not sure to whom he plead.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, more firmly this time, as if he was drawing up the last of his strength. “No Cup. Promise me.”

And Merlin knew what he meant. That he couldn’t bear it if someone else gave up their life for him again, so that he might live. He hated that Arthur asked this of him, but as always, he could deny him nothing. “I promise,” he said brokenly, tightening his grip on Arthur.

 _…now…_

It is a bright afternoon where Merlin is sitting. He feels utterly confused. A few scant minutes ago, he was leaving the Fey lands, finally ready to go back and face Gwen and Lancelot and find the remaining knights, to pull them together in the face of the unthinkable happening. And now—he blinks and looks around him. The ground is hard beneath his feet, a grey slate that is yet different from Camelot’s stone walls. He looks behind him. Instead of the greenery of Camlann’s valley, he sees a tall building unlike any other that he’s seen.

 _…then…_

Night fell. Arthur’s body was taken away and Merlin left the knights to hold vigil while he went alone to suffer his grief. “You promised!” Merlin shouted at the sky, voice hoarse with tears, “you promised that we had a destiny together. To bring Albion to greatness. This can’t be it! It can’t!”

“It was foretold,” a voice sounded behind him, “that Arthur Pendragon would die. This you knew.” Merlin turned around and found himself facing Queen Mab, Queen of the Fey. She stood in front of him, regal and coldly beautiful, blue eyes peering at him through her silver hooded cloak. He had read about her in the old books in the library, Geoffrey believing them to be only legends rather than real magic.

“Yes,” said Merlin, “but I thought we’d have more time.”

“That,” she said, almost kindly, “is the lament of all men.”

"Please," Merlin said, bowing his head, a small inclination in deference to her stature. "Please," he repeated, not even sure what he was pleading.

"Oh Emrys," she sighed, her eyes softening to an almost kind expression. "This day has been written to come, regardless of the choices that you made in the past. You could no more have stopped Mordred than you could have stopped your destiny from intertwining with Arthur's."

"Is there nothing you can do for me?" he asked her, his face wet with tear tracks. He felt empty, numbed beyond the coldest winter day. The books had said that the Fey were intimately connected to the land and to the Old Religion, even more than the dragons. Surely if someone could grant him a gift, it would be the Queen.

"I have but one boon that I can grant you, though you might not see it as a favor."

"Please," he begged her again, "Anything."

"Emrys, do not make lightly promises that you do not wish to keep," she said, a warning tone entering her voice. She spread her hands before her. "All I can offer you is time with the Fey. We shall cleanse your wounds and ease your pains." Queen Mab reached out a hand. “Come with me. Let me take you where it won’t hurt.”

“I can’t,” Merlin said, “I can’t leave them behind. The battle still rages, even without Arthur. The men… they are still fighting.”

“Just for a day,” she promised. “One day to ease your pains and then you can return. I promise.”

Merlin thought back to Gaius and what the old physician had told him about not trusting the Fey. He remembered the books warning of the Fey having their own ulterior motives unknown to mortals. He thought back to Sophia and how she wanted to take more than Athur was willing to give her. Then he thought of Arthur again, the sticky hotness of his blood spilling into Merlin's hands in the verdant valley that lay before them a wasteland. He watched the knights gather up their dead, the smoke rising from the many burning pyres. He squared his shoulders. "Yes. Take me with you. Just for one night. Tomorrow I will return and help bring the dead back to Camelot. Bring Arthur to his people."

She smiled at him, a sharp, nearly vicious smile as her eyes flashed golden for a split second. "Perhaps one night will not be enough for you. Perhaps you will want more."

Merlin shook his head. "No, I can grieve--" he choked up for a second on the word, thinking of Arthur's body lying in the tent, surrounded by his knights, "for one night alone, but I cannot shirk my responsibilities for much more than that."

She smiled again, that fey, half-smile that made him shiver and wonder what he was promising to her, what she would take from him in return for one night's solace, what he was giving up and if he might know to miss it. "Very well Emrys. If that is your decision, we shall not keep you longer than one night with us."

 _…now…_

Merlin doesn't know how long he sits there in confusion. He stands up finally, looking around him in surprise. Where was the battlefield, the stink of dead men filling the air? Where was the green lushness of the valley? He feels like he can't even catch his breath. One night and the world around him looks different, completely changed.

"Merlin!" he hears a shout behind him. "Thank god, Merlin, you're finally here!"

He turns around and sees a slim figure dashing towards him, nearly tripping over herself. She stops just in front of him, looks at him for one moment and then throws her arms around him, enveloping him in a bone crushing hug. "Gwen?" he squeaks out in surprise because he barely recognizes her with her short hair and strange breeches.

"Yes," she says happily, finally releasing him. "Gosh, Merlin, we've been waiting for you for ages. Where have you been?"

"I..." he falters over his explanation because behind her he recognizes the figure walking towards them. The setting sun lights up his silhouette in bath of golden rays, nearly obliterating any features, but Merlin would recognize him anywhere. "Arthur?" he whispers, knees suddenly shaky.

And then, like something out of a dream, Arthur is there, a warm hand on his shoulder before pulling him into a hug. "Merlin," Arthur whispers into his ear. "I've been waiting for so long."

Merlin can't help it. He sobs, once, then faints.

 _…then…_

He didn't tell anyone where he was going, just followed her as she led him deeper and deeper into the forest. He felt like something of a cur for leaving the knights and Gwen to deal with the wreckage left behind but he thought that if he didn't leave the battlefield, he might explode for want of something. For want of Arthur, here, with him. He had failed then, finally. Albion was barely brought together and now Arthur was gone, never to rule over her.

His head felt foggy and heavy, even without the thick smell of flowers permeating the air. Merlin could see a mist curling around them, obscuring the trees around them. He felt as though they entered a thick veil; he clawed at the air in front of him, feeling suffocated when the mist cleared and there he was, in the land of the Fey.

"Welcome, Emrys," one greeted him as his horse ambled past. "We hope that you will find your stay with us satisfactory." She smiled, a toothy grin that made Merlin shudder and turn back to his hostess.

"One night," he said, "No more. You promised."

"Yes, yes," she answered, "We will not force you to stay longer than you desire." Gently she alighted from her horse, all graceful limbs. She spread her hands before her, gesturing to the peaceful valley, the babbling brook and the shimmering waterfall in the distance. "Please, Emrys, you have our hospitality."

Merlin got down from his horse, stumbling as he landed, fisting his hand in Esfohel's mane for a moment, drawing strength from the solid feel of her beside him. "Arthur," he whispered to himself, tears welling up in his eyes. He felt a light touch on his shoulder.

"Come," she said, "Rest yourself." Merlin let himself be led away.

 _…now…_

When next Merlin wakes up, he is on a lounge, stretched out over it. Arthur is sitting next to him, holding his hand. "Is this--" he croaks, his throat sandpaper dry, "Is this some sort of dream? Where am I?"

"You're at my place," says Gwen, as she returns to the room, carrying a glass of water. "Here, drink some."

The water slides down his throat, cool, and when he has drunken his fill, he does feel a bit better, pushing himself up to a sitting position.

"What is this trickery?" he asks again.

"No sorcery, no tricks," Arthur answers, a small grin on his face. "It's just us here."

"But where am I?" Merlin persists.

"Not where," Gwen says, taking a seat next to Arthur. "But when."

"When?" Merlin asks, completely bewildered. "When what?"

"It's... rather complicated, I'm afraid. But things with you often are, Merlin," and Merlin can hear the affection hidden inside the statement.

"Am I dreaming?"

"No, Merlin, it's not a dream. I'm real. This is real." Arthur takes his hand and places it over his chest. "It's real."

There is a knock at the door before it is flung open in a flurry of energy. "I'm here," Merlin hears someone say breathlessly. "Is it true? Is he finally here?" Merlin pops his head over the back of the lounge and sees Morgana at the entrance.

"You!" he exclaims. "Stay back!" He pushes himself up to try to put himself between Arthur and Morgana.

Morgana doesn't move, just stands there, quietly, hands twisting nervously in front of her. Merlin has scarcely a moment to look at him before--"Is he here?" Mordred says as he enters the room.

Merlin makes a small noise of disbelief in the back of his throat, reaching out to do anything, something, to protect Arthur, when Arthur touches him lightly on the back of his neck, "It's all right, Merlin."

"What do you mean, it's all right? He..." he feels himself choking up then, the feel of Arthur's blood running over his hands a vivid memory. He reaches out frantically for Arthur, reassuring himself with the solid heartbeat under his palm.

"It was a long time ago," says Arthur, with a weary expression that reminds Merlin of how he looked just before he charged out to battle at the bitter end.

"It was only yesterday," Merlin says. "Yesterday that I held you in my arms as you lay dying. Yesterday that Mordred shoved a dagger into your side.”

Arthur shakes his head. "No, Merlin. For us, that was ages ago. We've been waiting for you for a long time."

"For me?" Merlin asks. "To do what?"

"For you to break the cycle and set us free," Morgana answers quietly.

“I don’t…” Merlin trails off. “I don’t understand. What are you doing here?”

Arthur takes his hand in his two warm (warm! Merlin can scarcely hold back his joy at Arthur’s vitality) ones. “I gather that you think that you spent a day somewhere. But we’ve spent lifetimes, always finding each other, always living out the same stories.”

“Lifetimes?” Merlin can barely comprehend what Arthur is trying to tell him.

“I betray Arthur every time for his birthright, however shabby it may be. I can see it about to happen but I can’t stop myself from doing it. Every time. We’ve lived history. We are history,” Morgana says.

“And I,” Mordred says clearly, looking straight into Merlin’s eyes, “kill him every time. Once, we were British soldiers fighting in the Crusades. Another time we were in America, fighting the revolutionaries. And once, we were just ordinary men and I just killed him for a perceived insult. And I’m sorry! But I can’t stop it. It happens every time.” He lets out a choked sob.

Arthur let go of Merlin, stands up and lopes his arm around Mordred’s shoulder in a gentle gesture. “Hush, it’s all in the past now.”

 _…then…_

Merlin stood quietly in front of a small bowl of water resting on a pedestal. He stared at his reflection, looking for some answers, anything. “It will tell you what you want to know,” a voice said behind him.

“What?” Merlin asked with a start, surprised that anyone had found him in this deserted area.

Queen Mab gestured to the bowl of water, its placid surface reflecting Merlin and now her. “This bowl. The water is from the Lake of Avalon. It can show you what truly is. Some say that it even grants your heart’s truest wish.”

“But at what price?” Merlin knew that wishes rarely came free.

“Only you will ever know.”

Merlin stared back into the water. He could only see his reflection now, shadowed eyes, tear-tracked face. “There is just me left. I cannot wish without knowing the price that I’ll have to pay.” He closed his eyes. I wish, his heart said traitorously, if I dared, for Arthur to be waiting for me when I leave. In his mind’s eye he could see them as they all were in the past—Gwen, Arthur, Morgana, and himself, all laughing together over some small joke, riding off into the woods together. He could see the four of them as they rode home with him to defend Ealdor. He saw them before the carefully constructed lies that surrounded them fell apart and buried their friendship in the rubble. He even saw Mordred as the druid boy when they first met, the wide, innocent eyes as he begged Merlin to save him from Uther. Before Mordred turned against him, against all of them. Before they were sent hurtling along this path of destiny that led him here, alone, Arthur dead by Mordred’s hand. Merlin shed a single tear for things lost, what might have been in another lifetime.

“Your heart’s desire,” Queen Mab said again. “What is asked, it may grant.”

 _…now…_

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says, spreading his hands out helplessly. “I didn’t know.” He didn’t voice the wish, and yet it had come true all the same. He doesn’t know how to apologize to Morgana and Mordred for condemning them to lifetimes of betrayal, even when they didn’t have the heart to betray Arthur anymore. He didn’t know how to apologize to Gwen for forcing her to repeat her mistakes every time, even when she had already learned from them. And he didn’t know how to apologize to Arthur for making him endure so much time apart.  
“It doesn’t matter,” says Arthur. “You’re here now. This time, we’ll get it right.”

 _...fin..._


End file.
